


Don't Worry, I See You

by ragequilt



Series: New Glow [3]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragequilt/pseuds/ragequilt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone’s curious about the secret Spencer’s keeping, and a canonical trip to Mexico only makes things harder for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Worry, I See You

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Matt and Kim’s “I See Ya”. It was basically perfect.

When Spencer makes it to work on Tuesday morning, he’s the first one there—like always. That never holds up for long, though, and JJ makes her way in a few minutes later with a coffee cup from home in her hands and a look of determination on her face. She doesn’t head for her office the way she might on any other morning, instead walking over to his desk and lingering there with a suspicious air about her.

“Good morning, JJ,” he says dutifully, wondering what exactly has her acting how she is, but she’s quick to answer that question.

“You left in a hurry yesterday,” she says instead of giving him a “good morning” like she usually would, drumming her fingers on the edge of his desk. He looks up and meets her eyes, trying to look as innocent and ordinary as ever. Not that he has anything he really is guilty of, unless leaving when the work day is actually over and not an hour later is suddenly a crime.

“Did I? I guess it was just good to be home,” he bluffs, turning to look at the papers he’d spread out in front of him. She settles against the corner of his desk to nurse her coffee, but the glimpse of her expression he’d gotten makes him think she’s not going to give it up.

“If you won’t tell me, I’m sure Morgan would be happy to lend an ear.” Realistically, she _could_ get Morgan to cooperate in tag-teaming him, especially on this front. He really should have just acted normally yesterday and put off his plans for a little while to keep this from happening.

Not that JJ’s—or anyone else’s—curiosity is exactly a bad thing. But for all that the team lives in each other’s pockets and generally knows what’s going on in everyone else’s lives, there are some times it just feels good to keep something secret. Even if it’s only for a little while, because he definitely won’t be able to keep quiet about it all day, and holding out _will_ be more difficult if Morgan or anyone else gets involved. There’s just not exactly a lot of change or excitement in Spencer’s life, and it’s sort of novel to play coy for now.

“I don’t know what there is to talk about,” he insists, turning fully to face her and crossing one of his legs over the other at the knee to get comfortable. She’s not going to go away any time soon.

“Spence…” she trails off, sighs. “I just want you to be happy.”

“You know, Ernest Hemingway said ‘Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.’” He folds his hands together behind his head, giving her a smug little smile even though—

“Yeah, and Mary Stuart said ‘To be kind to all, to like many and love a few, to be needed and wanted by those we love, is certain the nearest we can come to happiness.’” She laughs, pats him on the knee, and it’s easy for his smile to become sincere in the face of affection. 

“We could do this all day. Make any argument with quotes if we really wanted,” he says, and she shrugs in agreement.

“What are you nerds even doing, it’s like 7:30 in the morning and you’re sitting around spouting this stuff at each other? Geez.” That’s Morgan, coming through the front doors and yawning into the back of his hand. “I expect as much from Reid, but JJ, c’mon girl. You’re killin’ me.”

“Good morning to you too,” she says, patting him on the arm when he walks by on his way to his desk. He drops his stuff off and walks back through to get a cup of coffee, putting a smile on for Garcia when she comes in as well.

“Oh, are we having an early morning pow-wow?” Garcia asks, coming to stand in front of JJ and taking what looks to be a euphoric drink of her coffee. “JJ doesn’t come out to play until long after everyone else gets here unless there’s a reason.”

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed—“ the woman in question begins, and Spencer cuts her off.

“JJ…” he says, voice quiet and exasperated. This is all getting too big, and now everyone will be nosy until he lets the secret go. Morgan is looking over from where he’d been pouring his coffee, and Garcia’s got a very interested expression on.

JJ carries on, unintimidated. “Our resident genius left in a hurry yesterday, and he won’t tell me _anything_ about why.”

“Normally I believe in not being nosy,” Garcia says, putting a hand on her hip. “But you never keep secrets, which means it must be something big.”

“Or it could just mean that it’s not actually a secret and you’re all overreacting. I don’t see why this is a big deal; we all leave in a hurry sometimes, and I was just ready to get home.”

“Uh-huh, are you sure that’s all it is, loverboy?” Morgan asks, coming to stand at Garcia’s elbow.

“Loverboy?” Elle says, having just come in herself. She rounds out the congregation in front of his desk, making for a full line of nosy and curious coworkers. “What have you gotten up to now, Reid?”

“I—“ Spencer goes to answer, ready to share the details if only because it’ll mean everyone gives him some peace and quiet, but JJ interrupts him this time.

“You don’t really have to answer us, Spence. I was just teasing, anyway,” she says, standing and patting the top of his head as she walks away. Her departure serves as some sort of cue for the others to disperse and continue their regular morning routines, and all he can really do is shake his head and sigh. 

/*\

The day goes on normally, almost uninterestingly. Nothing urgent makes its way to JJ, so most of what gets done is just routine, almost busywork. There is still some paperwork left to file from the case in Arkansas, and a couple of police departments call for consultations on profiles for things happening in their jurisdictions, but nothing that is enough to be called out for.

For lunch, most of the team goes out—there’s a burger place that Elle has been raving about that’s caught just about everyone’s interest, but Gideon is still holed up in his office working and Spencer passes on the invitation as well. Partially because even though his thoughts can go a mile a minute, his hands can’t possibly keep up, so he’s still writing down all of his observations from the case, and… Also in part because he knows that if he went out with them it’d be the perfect situation for them to gang up and drag the truth out of him.

It’s just after 12:30 when he finally takes a moment to go grab a snack from one of the vending machines in the break room, and he takes the opportunity to check his phone as well. He’s got a missed text from about ten minutes ago— _Hey, are you free for a minute?_

**I’ve got a few minutes; taking a break for lunch.** he taps out while he tries to decide between the pretzels and the trail mix, and he’s just punching in his selection when his phone rings.

\\*/***\\*/

“Hey there, cutie,” you say, trying to keep yourself from crooning into the phone—it nearly comes out anyway, though. It’s like instinct, a reflex.

“I’m cute?” He sounds incredulous, and you shake your head even though he couldn’t possibly see it. 

“Of course you are,” you insist, and you settle into your chair even though you’re still a little nervous. Sooner, rather than later, talking to him will get less intimidating, or so you’re hoping. “But anyway, hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, and it sounds like there’s a smile in his voice. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. I just wanted to check in on you, see how your day is going.”

“I mean… I’m fine,” he says, and there’s the sound of a crinkling wrapper. Around whatever he’s put in his mouth, he continues. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Well, no, I didn’t think the movie last night was going to ruin you for life or anything, but I guess I also had some time on my lunch break and I thought I would give you a call if you had the time, you know?”

“I’m glad I was able to find the time, then,” he says, and you roll your head against the back of your chair; you can’t _deal_ with him.

“See, _this_ is why you’re cute, Spencer,” you say, and he just laughs.

The next ten or so minutes are spent in quiet conversation. He crinkles his way through the package of whatever he was eating and you push what’s left of your leftovers-as-lunch around in your tupperware. Tonight would be too soon to ask to see him again, and even though you _want_ to, you ignore that desire.

Usually you’re firm in your feelings that the rules made up for meeting people, dating, whatever, are backwards and kind of dumb, but… He deserves some alone time, some down time, to get his head together before you ask to see him again. You don’t want to pressure him, and he seems like he’d do best without you breathing down his neck.

You just _couldn’t_ keep from calling him today. You’d like to drag out the time you spent with him last night as long as you can, which means doing things like this phone call, or the way you’d laid on the couch after he’d gone home last night, thinking about how he’d cuddled up with you. 

“Hey,” he says after a moment of silence that you’ve been filling by packing the remnants of your lunch away. “I’m sorry, I need to get back to work. My team will be back soon, I’m sure, and they are going to ask _so many_ questions if they find me on the phone with you. They were all curious about why I was in such a hurry to leave yesterday.”

“You’ll have to tell me more about that later,” you say, trying not to laugh outright. You wish you got along as closely with your coworkers as he does. Between their apparent interest and the way the one you’d met had behaved at the club… It sounds like family. 

“Okay,” he says, and there’s a shifting, fuzzy noise on the other end. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Sure thing. Have a good afternoon, Spencer.” He hangs up and you rub your fingers across your forehead. You still have another twenty minutes before anyone expects you back, and—geez. You need to get your head in order about him.

Spencer Reid is a handsome man, and he’s incredibly sweet. He’s also incredibly intelligent. But more than that, he’s inarguably the loneliest person you’ve ever closely met. From what you’ve learned—from the way he’d kissed your face, from the way his voice had sounded when he’d said “I never thought I’d get to do this”—it seems like something about him had only ever gotten in the way of him getting along and connecting with people. 

He’s no more than a handful of years over twenty, but he seems affection-starved in a way it’s impossible to even imagine.It’s also, arguably, the saddest thing you’ve been privy to in recent memory. The part of you that wants to care for people, that wants to make sure everyone has a good time with life in whatever way you can, wants to make sure he’s never this hungry again. 

There’s another part of you that’s at least a little afraid of commitment like that, for two reasons. First, because you don’t know what he’s looking for from you, really, or if he’d even want what you have to offer. You don’t think _he_ even knows what he’s looking for at this point, and that means there’s a lot of paths for how things could play out.

Secondly, of course, are your own issues. You haven’t been in a relationship in more than a year, which is no big deal to you, but you feel like there are quite a few things about you that make you unappealing to possible partners when you get down to it. More often than not you like to be alone, you don’t really overly enjoy going out to do non-essential things, which has been an issue before. And it comes along with the territory of intelligent men being your “type”, so to speak, but you refuse to abide being talked down to.

From what you can tell from how you know him so far, none of those things seem like they’ll be an issue, but that’s the point of dating anyway—to find out things like that. And that _is_ the potential next step, you think. If he decides that he likes you well enough to keep meeting up with you, either he’ll want to be exclusive or he’ll find something about you that makes it not worth his time. 

But at the moment, what you can see in him is that he was some sort of cosmic deliverance straight to you, because your meeting was so much made of chance you barely believe it’d happened. He didn’t seem at ease in the club where you’d met him, and since he’s FBI he probably wouldn’t have showed at the clubs you usually visit with your friends instead of the one near the base. You’re not sure what’s going on in his head that has him amenable to being “taught” anything by you—because that had been the joke, the first time—but you think that the stars must have been aligned for any of this to have happened.

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you get to your feet. It’s time to get back to work, and if you keep sitting around thinking about stars and planets and romance, you’ll never get anything done today.

\\*/***\\*/

“So, Pretty Boy,” Derek says, shutting the door to the break room behind him and advancing on where his coworker has his gaze out the window. The other man jumps, startled, and he drops his phone with a clatter. 

“Geez, Morgan,” he breathes, hand on his chest. “What’s going on, do we have a case?” He bends to pick up his phone even as he’s being laughed at, checks it over to make sure it’s not broken.

“Sorry for scaring you, kid. Damn.” He lets out a final laugh and claps a hand on Spencer’s shoulder once he’s standing again. “But hey, I wanted to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“JJ dropped the subject this morning, but… You know we all care about you, right?”

“I guess.” Some days it’s hard to believe anyone even _likes_ him, much less actively cares.

“No, I mean it. Don’t think I won’t get the rest of the team to line up and tell you how important you are to us.” He’s grinning like he’s joking, but Spencer wouldn’t put it past him to be serious. “We’re only concerned about you.”

“Do you not trust me?”

“It’s not like that, man. We just want to know what’s going on, really. And part of it is because nothing interesting ever happens around here, sure, but… You’re kind of a routine guy—we all are. You actually leaving at five is pretty rare. We just want to know that everything is okay.” He squeezes Spencer’s shoulder before dropping his hand to his side.

“Everyone’s fine, it’s not… It wasn’t that kind of thing.”

“That’s good to know. What is it, then?”

“I went and saw—the woman I met at the club, again, last night,” Spencer admits, looking away from Morgan’s gaze and his excited grin.

“Are you for real? I didn’t think you had it in you, man! You get some?”

“Some what?” Spencer asks, looking bewildered, and Morgan rolls his eyes.

“You know, did you have sex with her? Is that what’s different about you today? I hadn’t even considered…”

“No, it’s not—like that. I don’t know if _I’m_ like that.” Morgan hums thoughtfully, and the look on his face isn’t judgmental the way Spencer’d thought it would be. “I called her last night after I left here… I wasn’t sure if, if I’d waited too long, or something, so I was in a hurry—not like twenty minutes would make a difference, but I wasn’t thinking about that at the time. I’m still not sure what the appropriate window for things like these are, but I definitely didn’t have the time while we were on the case and I didn’t want the opportunity to pass me by.”

“What happened?”

“She made dinner, and I brought some wine, and—she was happy to see me, Morgan. That’s the most important part to me. She was actually glad that I was there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and… After dinner, we were on the couch. She told me I could do whatever I wanted.”

“Are you _sure_ you didn’t have sex with her?”

“I’m absolutely sure I would know if something like that happened, but I appreciate your concern. Really.” Spencer shakes his head, and Morgan laughs.”I honestly just wanted to be close to her. She was understanding about it, didn’t even seem disappointed or upset. We watched a movie and we—cuddled.” He says the word like he can’t believe he’s actually saying it, looking up at his teammate with a smile on his face.

“If it can get you lookin’ like that, kid, I’m happy for you.”

“But… you were the one that said relationships don’t work in this job. Is this even a relationship, yet? I really don’t know,” Spencer says, that happy smile fading.

“They don’t work for _me_ , sure. But whatever you’re doing with her seems to make you happy, and that’s the biggest and best reason not to call something off. And… It being a relationship is something you agree upon, Reid. You’ll pretty much have to talk it out, but you ought to figure out if that’s what you want, first. I mean, you’ve never done anything like this before, right?”

“Yeah. Something about being a high school graduate at twelve didn’t really give me a lot of relationship experience.”

There’s a lull in the conversation as both of them look for something to say, but the moment is broken when another agent steps into the break room. That’s definitely at least Spencer’s cue to leave—his coworkers may be able to make idle conversation with anyone they please, but it’s not so easy for him. Morgan follows him out, though, apparently ready to head back to work.

“Thank you,” Spencer says in a low voice as he heads down the hallway, aware that anyone could be looking at them at any time. Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t make him nervous, but today it would be his personal life on display for anyone that _was_ looking.

“For what?”

“I don’t know—listening? Asking?”

“We’re basically brothers, man. I see you guys more than I even see my dog; this team is the closest thing I’ve got to family out here.”

“Still. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. And if you ever want to share any other details…” the other man trails off with a wink, pushing open the door that leads into the bullpen and letting Spencer go first. 

“Don’t count on it,” Spencer calls as Morgan heads towards Garcia’s tech lair—probably to tell her everything he just learned. It’s to be expected though, and if anyone had to find out second-hand, he’s okay with it being Garcia. She understands him on a fundamental level that most of other people don’t. 

/*\

After work, which Spencer leaves from at 5:45 like usual instead of at 5:00 like yesterday, he heads home. The bus runs on time and he’s set to be home by seven, which is an achievement in its own way—nothing is exactly _reliable_ , in this day and age. He’ll have dinner, and write his daily letter to his mother, and try to decompress from a long day of being surrounded by people. 

By the time he makes it home he’s had some time to relax, to try and put away the thoughts and details that _don’t_ matter somewhere in his brain and out of the forefront of his mind. He makes a salad for dinner, too tightly strung to want to mess with actually preparing something on the stove, and while he eats he writes his letter.

It almost always feels good to express what’s happened during his day, and he does understand why people keep journals. But with his mother, he does it to serve as a balm for the guilt he feels, because he never visits her in the sanitarium. With her he never really leaves anything out, but today… He doesn’t mention what he can only think of as his romantic developments. It’s something most children wouldn’t tell their parents anyway, but it still feels like a huge omission.

After he’s cleared his dishes away and folded his letter into an envelope, he goes into his bedroom to change into pajamas, to relax. He washes his hands and his face, brushes his teeth, and by the time he sinks onto his mattress, most of the tension that he lives with daily is gone. He’s tired enough that he could sleep now if he made the effort.

But that will have to wait—his discussion with Morgan after lunch hadn’t really been one he wanted, but it had gotten the gears in his head turning. The idea that he needs to figure out what he’s doing, looking for, wanting from her, is not far off base. He’s good at compartmentalizing, almost as a requirement of who he is, and he takes a few deep breaths before letting all of his thoughts about her come out to play.

Monday, after she’d effectively withdrawn her invitation to do as he pleased, she’d settled in with a pillow under her head and she’d opened herself up to be his pillow as well. He’d laid between her legs with his head pillowed on her chest, and for the first few long moments, it had been supremely _weird._ It was a position he’d never assumed with anyone else, and one he thought he never _would_ assume. But as she’d run the flat of her hand up and down his spine, his heart rate had slowed back to normal, and it’d gotten less unusual and much more comfortable.

She’d dug her remote out of the couch and switched on the TV, and between the two of them they’d decided on “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” to watch. Even after she’d gotten settled beneath him, with an arm wrapped around his back and the other one moved up to rest between his shoulders, he’d been half-afraid that it was some sort of trick. Afraid that she was going to throw him out for being _weird_ or just not what she’d wanted. Having knowledge gleaned only from pop culture and television makes for a lot of confusion; he’s learning the hard way now.

But instead of something horrible happening, they’d laid there comfortably for the duration of the movie. He’d made remarks on the frankly stupid things had happened on the screen, and she was making little jokes at seemingly every opportunity. 

When she’d started crying towards the end, she’d apologized, and even though his knee-jerk reaction to emotional people is to _run_ , he’d found a way to come off reassuringly, the way he’s heard JJ be with victims. Says something about him that that’s his baseline, but he’d bet she would be proud to know it.

After the movie was over, they’d stayed there for what felt like a long time. Even though they were sort of squashed together, he was… comfortable. Content might be the best word for it.

What is the next step of all of this, though? What do they do next? He believes that everything so far has been genuine—she wouldn’t have invited him to her apartment and failed to “get lucky” as Morgan had called it, if that had been her end goal. She wouldn’t have been able to fake being so happy to see him, either. Is this the behavior that leads into—into dating? Is that what he wants?

Looking at himself objectively, it seems like it is. The dreams he’d had after he’d been put through the wringer by Lila, what he’d instinctively taken from _her_ when she’d given him free reign, and the way their few interactions so far have gotten his heart racing, they’re all clear signs that this is what he wants. Even he’s not so clueless on this front to not know. He thinks the idea of dating—or at least, the idea of his idea of dating: having a repeat of yesterday, or sitting together and talking over coffee, or even just sharing space and quietly working on their own things… They all have a certain appeal, especially cast in a light where _she_ is his partner.

She’s been good to him so far, in a way he wouldn’t have expected from a stranger that he found in a club. She’s figuratively held his hand most of the way already, short of putting their second meeting on him, but even that was something he needed. She’s been patient, and agreeable, and _seriously_ , she’d been happy to see him. 

He does know that it might not be easy to manage, between his job and the sort of person he _is_. But it’s also generally agreed upon that most things worth doing aren’t easy to do… It’ll just require talking it out with her, figuring out what _she_ wants from him. There are many, many papers and professionals that insist open communication between partners is the most important aspect of a relationship, and that’s something he’s inclined to trust.

He just needs to make a date to see her again, talk all of this out no matter how difficult it may be to find the words while she’s looking at him. If she’s amicable to the idea, it’ll be easy. And if she’s not… He’ll just try to pretend it all hadn’t happened, maybe. He’s never been rejected like that, not as an adult, and there’s no real way to know how he’ll react until it happens.

Decision made, he sits up and turns to dangle his legs over the side of the bed. His phone is on the nightstand, and he dials her number from memory.

\\*/***\\*/

Your phone rings from where you’d left it in the kitchen, just moments after you’ve folded yourself onto the couch with your dinner. _Of course_ that’s your luck. You’d just wanted to watch some TV and relax. 

There’s no ignoring it, though, and you set your plate on the coffee table before heading to the other room. Hopefully it’s not from work, you think, digging it from the depths of your purse.

“Hello?” you answer when you finally find it, not taking the time to check the Caller ID just in case it ends up going to voicemail for your trouble.

“Hi,” Spencer says on the other end, and you instantly feel wound up. What _is_ it about this man that does this to you?

“Oh, hey, I was just thinking of you,” you say, which is not exactly a lie. You’d been trying to _ignore_ that you were sitting exactly where he’d laid out with you yesterday, just so maybe you could get something done instead of dropping back into memory, but you weren’t exactly being successful.

“What, really?” It sounds like he’s smiling, and it’s good to know you can elicit the same responses from him that he gets from you without even seeming to try.

“Just thinking about yesterday. Or, trying not to for maybe five minutes so I can get _anything_ else done, but it all comes out the same,” you admit, and he laughs. “I didn’t expect you to call.”

“I didn’t… really expect to call, honestly. But, I was wondering—do you want to go out to dinner with me on Friday?”

“You haven’t gotten sick of me yet?”

“I think you’ll get tired of me first. Most people do,” he says, and you didn’t ask for the frown to make its way onto your face but it’s there now. 

“I don’t think that’ll hold up, but the only way to know for sure is to give it some time,” you insist, and if he was in the room you’d definitely try to hug hum. 

“I guess we’ll just have to see. I’ll pick you up—is 7:30 alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds good.” Is this really happening to you, right now? 

“I know a great Indian place, how does that sound?”

“I’ve never had Indian before… but I’m down to try new things. I’m looking forward to it!” When even was the last time you’d been on a date? It’d been at least a year. 

“I’m glad. I’ll see you then.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Spencer,” you say, and there’s no way the smile on your face stays out of your voice.

“Goodnight,” is his reply, and he sounds like he’s suffering from the same expression you are. It makes your heart warm.

\\*/***\\*/

And then, of course, on Thursday they get called out to Allende de Sol to look into what may be a serial killer. The reception there isn’t _too_ spotty, but the team barely has time to sleep or eat as the case develops. 

Between the killer’s escalating timeline and and the hindrance the local police manages to make of themselves, everything is much more difficult than anyone would like. They do find the unsub, but not until after his victims have found him—though in this case it’s not that bad of an ending.

Sunday night once the case is over and it’s just a waiting game until the plane leaves in the morning, everyone heads back to the hostel where they’d been put up for the case. It’s a smaller place, and everyone’s doubled up in the rooms that _were_ available. Spencer is rooming with Morgan, JJ and Elle have the room next door, and Gideon and Hotch are staying up the hallway. It’s almost cozy.

The only part that really matters is the bed, though, and Spencer falls facedown on his side of the mattress the moment the opportunity presents himself. He feels drained, barely functional, and even the satisfaction of a case solved can’t really get him feeling anything other than _tired_. His phone buzzes against his leg, where it’s tucked away in his pocket, and he digs it out to check the message.

He has five missed calls, and just as many missed texts now that _she’s_ sent another one. The latest one reads _Whatever I did, I’m sorry._ —a follow up to the others that he reads now that he has the time. _Are you running late?; Hey, where are you?; Are you okay?_ and _Spencer? Call me?_ He feels horrible just reading them.

Usually he doesn’t use the setting on his phone that keeps it from ringing unless the callers are his team, but in this case he’d had to keep his focus. He hadn’t even known she’d called—though he should’ve expected it. He feels guilty for being unavailable, and he’s almost _afraid_ to call back. Most of all, though, he feels back that she thinks his lack of a reply is her fault.

He’s just at a loss for what to do. 

/*\

He can’t sort this out by himself, not with his limited, almost nonexistent, relationship experience. He doesn’t _want_ to ask for help, but he doesn’t have any other option that will lead to the outcome he wants—which is for him to have not ruined this already. JJ will help him, though. He knows _that_ for sure.

“JJ?” he calls through the wood, even as he knocks. The woman in question opens the door a moment later, and she’s only half as put together is she usually is, like she was getting ready to try and catch whatever sleep she could. Her hair is piled up on her head and she’s wearing her dress shirt still, but she’s got on pajama bottoms instead of her slacks. 

“Spence? Is everything alright?” she asks, face a picture of concern. 

“Yeah. I just—I need some help, can I talk to you?”

“Of course. Come on in, Elle’s in the shower but she won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She opens the door wide, lets him step in beside her, and he settles into the chair in the corner of the room while she sits down on the end of the bed. “What’s going on?”

“There’s kind of a lot to it… You remember how we went out last Friday?”

“Sure, it was almost a special occasion. You never come with us.” She smiles and his returning smile feels more like a grimace than anything. His stomach is in knots.

“While we were there, I met someone…” She hums, nodding. “And I met up with her again on Monday. We had dinner at her apartment, and I was… I was thinking about pursuing a relationship with her, if she wanted it.”

“So what’s the problem? This sounds like a good thing.”

“We were supposed to go out to dinner on Friday. I never called her—I never had a chance to.” With his admission her mouth has fallen into a frown, and that’s… not good.

“Oh no, Spence…”

“So it’s not just me, then? It really is as bad as I think it is?” JJ has dated a _lot_ since he met her—she has the experience to know how to handle something like this. 

“You… probably really hurt her feelings. It’s something you might be able to save, depending on who she is as a person, but I don’t think she’s gonna be happy with you. This was going to be your second date?”

“Does us having dinner at her apartment count as a first date?”

“Of _course_ it does.”

“Then… yeah, I guess.”

“Then it’ll definitely come down to how much she likes you, and how good you are at apologizing.”

“She called me five times since Friday, and she sent me these texts…” He hands her his phone, shows her the messages. “What do I do?”

At that moment the bathroom door opens and Elle steps out, hair wrapped up in a towel and another one wrapped around her body.

“Er… Hi,” she says, and Spencer looks as far away in the opposite direction as he can. 

“I’m sorry, I can go—“ This is so inappropriate. He should have waited until after she’d come out of the shower for this conversation.

“No, you’re fine. Give me a second to get some clothes. I don’t know what you’re up to out here, but I want in on it.” There’s the sound of her rustling around in her go bag, and then the sound of the bathroom door shutting again.

Once he thinks it’s—safe, that’s a word for it—he turns back to look at JJ. She just shrugs, making a “who knows?” face and gesture. Rubbing his forehead with one hand, he takes his phone back from her with the other. Just thinking about the unanswered texts makes him feel more ill. 

Elle comes back out and she’s fully clothed this time, which he is infinitely more comfortable for. She sits down next to JJ on the bed, and she looks expectant. “What’s going on?”

JJ catches her up, which is kind of her, considering that he is trying to rub away what feels like an oncoming stress headache. By the time she’s done talking, Elle’s cooing sadly at him.

“And so, now, we’re trying to figure out the way to fix this?” she asks, looking between him and JJ.

“Yeah…. Hopefully that even exists.”

“ _I_ think it does. I mean, she liked you enough to make you dinner, right?”

“Yeah…” He focuses his stare on the hardwood floor, trying to distract himself from the aching. 

“She’s called you this many times, Reid. She was worried. She wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, but—“

“I think I have a plan,” JJ says, cutting him off, and he turns his focus to her.

When he does make it back to his room, his brain is still running a thousand miles an hour, but he has a dozen different good ideas to sift through before he finds the best one to use tomorrow.

By the time he makes it to _work_ , he has the list weeded out, and he has a proper plan. He’ll just have to wait out the day. 

\\*/***\\*/

“I just don’t know what I did _wrong_ , Mom,” you’re whining into your phone, and you twist your hand into your hair in frustration. You absolutely _did not_ want this, didn’t even think it was a possible outcome of the thing you’d been doing with Spencer.

Your feelings are actually… really hurt, about Spencer bailing on your date. And that’s what it was, a date? A pre-prepared invitation to a dinner establishment by someone you’ve expressed interest in _is_ a date, right? And now, you’re on the phone with your mom, letting her baby you about it. It’s _has_ been a long time since you’ve been on a real date, but it’s been even longer since someone stood you up. 

She’s murmuring comforting mom-things into your ear about it when there’s a knock at your door, and you jump, surprised. You’re not expecting anyone tonight, so this is weird. “Hey, mom, I’m sorry. Somebody’s here; I’ll call you back, alright?”

You hang up the phone and get to your feet, and you’re a little grumbly by the time you make it to the door. You just wanted a nice night alone at home, to talk to your mom and self-medicate your feelings with the ice cream in the freezer. You take a second to straighten your hair, just in case whoever had knocked is important, and then you open the door.

Standing outside is Spencer, who is looking a little rough around the edges. His tie isn’t pulled tight beneath his vest, and his hair is wild—or, wilder than you’ve seen it before. In one hand he’s got a bouquet of flowers, and in the other he’s got a tall stack of takeout boxes balanced in the other. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask, and you know it comes out harshly, but—you don’t care. He stood you up and ignored you, so he’s exhausted a lot of your patience.

“Can I come in? I don’t want to drop any of this,” he says, and you heave a frustrated sigh so he knows _exactly_ how you feel before opening your door all the way and letting him in. He makes his way past you to the coffee table, and when you round on him after shutting the door he’s already turned to face you.

“What are you doing here, Spencer?” You’re getting more and more annoyed as time passes without answers to your questions, or even an apology. 

“These are you,” he says, still avoiding answering you, but he’s holding out the flowers like a peace offering. You keep your arms folded over your chest, and you keep what you know is a stern look on your face. “Please? They’re hyacinths—the purple ones are generally agreed to mean “I’m sorry,” and the white ones represent “loveliness,” but I mostly thought they looked nice.” He’s making a face, an apologetic one. Even though you want to keep staring him down, you know you can’t do that and still feel good about it later, not when he’s acting this way.

“Thanks,” you grit out, and you step closer to him to take the flowers. “You still owe me an explanation, you know.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” He frowns deeply, looking up at the ceiling and running a hand through his hair before looking back to you. “We got called out on a case on Thursday, to Mexico. It was early afternoon, then, and from the moment we got the briefing we were busy with it. If I could tell you about the case, it would _horrify_ you. It only just wrapped up last night, but I never… I never had a moment of downtime to answer your calls, or even to call you back.”

“So what, you couldn’t call me today? Or at least text me?” you ask, and you _want_ to keep your anger—you’ve been walked over too many times to not want that—but you think you’re softening up to him. He looks really messed up about it, and you don’t think that he’s lying to you, or that he stood you up on purpose.

“I didn’t know what to do, and… Honestly, I had to ask JJ for help. I was panicked. I got your last text and… I thought I was going to be sick, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do or the best way to keep from hurting your feelings further… She and Elle thought that I’d have a better time apologizing in person than over the phone.”

“They were probably right,” you admit, because you know you would have been less lenient if you hadn’t been able to see the look on his face. It would have been easy to be cold at that distance, not so much when he’s giving you that forlorn look.

“This takeout is from the place I was going to take you on… On Friday, because it’s delicious and I think you’ll like it, and I wanted you to have some even if you want to kick me out now.” He puts his hands in his pockets, avoids looking you straight in the eye like he’s actually… expecting you to throw him out. 

“What about the flowers?” you ask, biting your lip and taking another tiny step into his personal space. 

“I thought you would like them, and there’s a whole language in flowers if you’re the type of person to be interested in that.” You look away from him for just a second to set the bouquet on the table before turning your attention entirely onto him.

“Oh, Spencer Reid, what am I going to do with you?” you ask, pulling him into a hug now that your hands are free. He’s tense at first, stiff like a board, but after just a moment he softens up and wraps his arms around you like your very own octopus. His breath is warm on your ear, and you love it.

“I really am sorry,” he murmurs, and honestly he sounds more torn up about it than ever would have expected.

“I forgive you, Spencer,” you say into his neck, and he shivers like a chill went down his spine. You can’t keep from smiling at that, and he shifts away like he’s looking down at you. “Just try to let me know, next time, if you need to reschedule or cancel or anything?”

“There’s going to be a next time?”

“I don’t know how many times I’m going to have to say this, but there _will_ be a next time until you decide to run screaming. You can count on it.” You pull back, loosening your hold so you can look him in the face without him twisting his neck. “Give me a kiss?” 

“I think I can do that for you,” he says around a smile, and one of his hands comes up to cup your cheek. You can’t keep your eyes from fluttering shut when he leans in to press his lips to yours, or the flush that comes by itself to your cheeks.

One chaste kiss easily turns into more, into time spent with your foreheads pressed together and just your breaths between you. The moment is only broken when your stomach growls, reminding you that you haven’t eaten in ages. 

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry,” you admit, and you lean up to give him one last peck. His hold on you loosens when you take a step back, and _god_ you could stand to keep him looking like that forever. It takes real effort to drag yourself away, and your hand lingers on his chest. “Get comfy, I’ll go get some forks and plates?”

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds good.” He moves away, steps around he coffee table and settles on the couch where you’d been less than ten minutes ago. He almost looks at home, there, relaxed against the cushions. 

By the time you make it back from the kitchen, he’s got all of the boxes open and spread over the table. There’s one small box with what looks to be dumplings in it, and then the other boxes hold some kind of bread, and rice, and some kind of very orange chicken. It all smells good, though, and that’s the thing that matters most right now.

“So…” You hand him his plate and fork before taking a seat right beside him, pressing your legs together at the knee. “What is all of this?”

He talks you through the entire lineup—the momos, the naan. The basmati rice and then the chicken tandoori, which he says is his favorite. He stops short of giving you the full cultural significance of it all, or something like it, but only barely, and only because his stomach starts growling too. 

/*\

By the time you’re done having your mind blown with unexpected Indian dinner, you are so stuffed that you could possibly explode, and it was _all_ amazing. The cuisine, of course, but also the easy way you’d been able to get along with him. You’d been a little nervous that it might be awkward, or at least that there would be some issues on your end because you’d been unusually quick to forgive, but… You’re not even angry anymore. You’re calm and relaxed like you haven’t been since he stood you up, really.

The inevitable silences in your conversation are comfortable, and you’d caught him looking at you out of the corner of your eye more than once. Your flowers, still on the table, draw your attention more often than not, however. And they are _your_ flowers, which is baffling all on its own. The last time you’d been presented with flowers… Hell, your mom had set you up with a couple of plastic roses for your senior prom photos, maybe? 

“Is something the matter?” he asks, and you look away from the—what did he say they were? Hyacinths? to pay attention to him instead.

“I was just thinking about the flowers,” you admit, moving your empty plate from your lap and trading it out to hold onto the object of your attention instead.

“What about them? I can give you the address where I got them, if you like them all that much,” he says, doing that thing that guys do where they prop themselves up with their elbows on their knees. You have _always_ had a weakness for that, and with him it’s even worse than some random schmuck. 

“What, and miss out on having the excuse to make you get them for me?” you tease, and you have to look away or you’re going to lose your ability to form clear sentences. His gaze is powerful. “I’ve just never been given flowers before… that’s all,” you say to your lap, and you occupy your hands by rubbing a petal between your fingers. It’s soft, and the whole thing is aromatic in a way you want to keep around forever.

“I thought they seemed like the best accessory to an apology,” he says in a quiet voice, and you have to compose yourself so that you can lean over and kiss him on the cheek. God, he’s something else.

“Dinner was good, too, I must admit.” You’ve got to keep joking around.

“I’m—glad you liked that, too. And, I know this is probably a bad time, but when I’d made our date for Friday I actually had something I wanted to talk to you about,” he says, voice stilted like he’s struggling with the words.

“Sure, what is it? Is everything okay?” You can’t keep the concern out of your voice.

“Yeah, I’ve just… Never done anything like this before.”

“I know. Believe me, it’s been apparent every step of the way. And that’s okay,” you say, trying to sound reassuring because it’s not—a flaw or failure as far as you’re concerned. If anything it’s endearing. You put your hand on his forearm because he’s started to fidget, and he stills once you touch him.

“And I don’t really know where to start, either. There’s no film or book or even an anecdote from anyone I’ve talked to that would cover how something like this would go with someone like… me,” he carries on like he hadn’t heard you, and you can’t help the frown that screws up your mouth. What is he talking about?

“Just tell me what you’re thinking, okay?” He falls silent, and the only sound between you is your breathing.

“If you’re amenable, I think… I think that I would like for us to be dating,” he says at long last, and—that’s all? You’d kind of thought it was a matter of life and death, how he was talking.

“I mean…” He cuts you off.

“And I am fully aware that other people, normal people, don’t discuss it this way, and it’s all some sort of unspoken thing between them, but I’ve never… been good at picking up cues like that within my own relationships, and there are a lot of qualities about you that I like already and I would enjoy getting to know you better. I want to spend time with you, and I fully read through five different websites today looking at flower symbolism, and—“

“Spencer,” you interrupt him, this time, and his mouth stops moving mid-word. “Relax.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you slide your hand up his arm so you can entangle your fingers with his. 

“Don’t be.” There’s a smile on your face, because no relationship you’ve ever been a part of has been like this or even started like this, and you kind of like it already. “And us dating would include letting me know when you’ve got to cancel a date for work, right? I have a feeling that’s going to happen a lot. I’d almost put money on you having a cot in your office somewhere.”

“I will. You’ll know almost as soon as I know, to the best of my ability.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of ability,” you say, winking at him, and he just smiles at you. “I don’t know how I’ll possibly be able to handle dating someone as great as you, being that you are a handsome doctor who is way out of my league, but I guess I’ll manage.” You take a moment to let him process your words and also to rub your thumb over his knuckles. His skin is soft.

“I feel like there’s a “but” coming.”

“Not really a but. There’s just something I feel like I should tell you—the part of dating people don’t talk about. If we get to know each other and decide we aren’t a good fit, or if you’re not having a good time… It’s okay to call it off.”

“Why would you tell me that?”

“Because I want you happy more than I want you stuck with me because of your lack of information on the subject, and… As secretive as you seem to be I don’t think there’s anyone else that would sit you down and tell you so. I’m not gonna be too upset with you if you decide this can’t work.”

“…But what about you?”

“Honey, I’ve been through all of this more than once. I know how it works, and… I’m not really afraid of you, honestly,” you say with a laugh, and he smiles at little at you.

“I had to be given exemptions for all of my qualifications that didn’t strictly involve academia, to get into the FBI. In most ways you don’t have anything to worry about. And it would be—out of character, for me, to attack you in any way if this doesn’t work out.”

“I can’t imagine how they had to give _you_ exemptions from things like running and jumping and tackling people,” you say, and he just shakes his head.

“Is it—common, for people to make it this far and decide they aren’t a good match?”

“I can only speak from my experience, and none of my relationships have ever been discussed in this way beforehand, but… Not really, no. I think we’re gonna do fine,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.” He brings your hand up to press a kiss to your palm and you have to bite your lip to keep the keening noise you want to make silent. He is _too much_ and you _love_ it. “We should find something to put your flowers in so they don’t wilt,” he says, and you let him pull your feet. 

“Yes, I’d like to preserve this—preserve these as long as possible,” you say, and he _must_ catch your slip but he only smiles. 

 


End file.
